Friday, April 25, 2014

About an hour later, our
lightly steeped libations consumed and the need for cordiality satisfied, Lidge
feigned a fond adieu to Lynn’s new acquaintance, we climbed back in the wagon,
and hames bells jingling, we continued on our way. Reaching the summit of a
pine covered ridge, we rested the mules briefly and then began our cautious
decent into the rugged canyon of the American River’s renowned south fork. The already treacherous thoroughfare soon
lost all semblance of a road and gradually took on the unmistakable
characteristics of a dry creek bed. Arriving eventually at the foot of a thickly wooded hill, we rode
apprehensively to the edge of a deep precipice and stared in awe. At this point the prehistoric gorge was
spanned defiantly by a picturesque but unnerving little suspension bridge. Constructed of gigantic, hand-hewn timbers,
and suspended by equally impressive cables, the primitive little conduit
proceeded courageously out into thin air, and then extended precariously at a
dizzying height, over a tumultuous rush of rampaging fury. The river was running high with the frigid
runoff from the mountains generous and rapidly melting snow pack, and the
reverberations of its unbridled onslaught resulted in a primal roar that
literally shook the bridge. The midpoint of this remarkable swinging bridge
afforded a spectacular vista of the riverbed some thirty feet below. Beneath us, the gut wrenching force of the
rampaging river boiled and bounded through a series of violently rolling rapids
and unique cylindrical formations, which long eons of gradual erosion had
carved geometrically into the solid granite base. The road swung immediately to the left at the
opposite side of the gorge, supported by an outcropping of granite whose
overhang provided home to a community of tiny bats. Below us the restless current intermittently
exhibited a fleeting streak of silver, as a rainbow trout would erupt from the
surface in a frenzied attempt to surmount the foaming falls. Irrigated by the rising mists, lush growths
of moss clung tenaciously to the rugged bluffs, and here and there a maidenhair
fern found a hold and spread luxuriously in the canyons filtered light. Here in
this unexpected haven we parked the rig and spread a quilt for lunch. Lidge brought out a thermos of boiled black
coffee, and Lynn unwrapped a fragrant offering of lightly toasted whole-wheat
bread stuffed to capacity with crispy bacon, sliced Swiss cheese, and
generously heaped with steaming scrambled eggs.
Lynn offered a blessing, and famished and drooling, we each grabbed a
sandwich and started in. Steller’s Jays piped from the canopy of Live oaks, and
as the summer sun shone intermittently from behind a wispy sea of cumulus clouds, the mist that rose from the tumultuous rapids below, periodically burst
into a brilliant rainbow. The
temperature warmed into the low eighties, and we sprawled on our blanket
luxuriously full and absorbed the summer sun. SC

Friday, April 4, 2014

“All things bright and beautiful,
all creatures great and small, all things wise and wonderful, the Lord God made
them all.” We don’t need to be so lonely. We each fit into this dysfunctional
family somewhere. Despite all our many differences, we have much in common. We each
cling to the surface of this spinning blue orb and try desperately to hang on.
You know what? If you’re still hanging on, you’re one of us. Welcome to the group. SC